


as close as a star to the moon

by pleasert



Series: green light (verse) [2]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Dirty Talk, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Photography, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slight D/s Dynamics, Speakeasies, Unprotected Sex, also. i am self aware so let's be honest here., drag artist!brian, guided masturbation, photographer!pat, sexy photography (?), topping/bottoming negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasert/pseuds/pleasert
Summary: Brian's as pretty as a picture when he's posing, when he's performing, when he's composed. It's really something quite graceful, something Pat's not seen in many people; he has a way of carrying himself that is somehow both elegant and simultaneously goofy, but he manages to play it off most of the time pretty well—Brian's charming, is the thing.But God,Pat thinks,when Brian finally comes undone—that's when the real show starts.
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill
Series: green light (verse) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557463
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	as close as a star to the moon

**Author's Note:**

> heed these warnings:  
> \- warning for explicit sexual content & rpf  
> \- warning for unprotected sex/sex without condoms; condoms weren’t used often in the 1920s. i’m a BIG public health nut and i think it’s important to advocate for condom use. it’s not the 1920s, folks. use condoms. PERIOD.  
> \- chapter title from the great gatsby  
> \- pov switches between brian third person secluded to pat third person secluded sometimes because im a scatterbrained fuck but theyre consolidated into sections and separated by dashes ! (it shouldn’t bother you too much!)
> 
> dear readers, 
> 
> i do not know how to explain 2 you in words how much @spacegirl did for this part of green light! space is not only a great writer but a wonderful beta reader, encourager, chatficcer and just all around BANG UP GAL! i'm glad we got to write together and wanna write even more with you! <3 
> 
> look out for the patbrisim fic coming out in the greenlight verse that i would say is about 80% done and has more than 10k already written. it's GOOD and it's majorly in the works! :eyes: 
> 
> peas enjoy! happy holidays!  
> -scout

Brian doesn’t remember whether it was he or Pat who brought up the idea of a private photo session. 

Though he’s self-aware, Brian can’t help the fact that he’s practically jumping out of his skin with excitement and anticipation the second Pat starts enthusiastically talking about lighting. Then, Pat’s setting everything up, unpacking lights with long, slender, muscular arms, setting up equipment carefully, looking so effortlessly intelligent with his stupid, thick glasses and then he turns all his attention on Brian and it’s a _lot._

And Brian’s—well. He likes to be watched. He's a performer and he's damn _good_ at it, good at catching all the angles that make his slender, sweet body look the best, twisting so that you can see the way his hips jut out just a little. And he can see Pat's face, even if the camera's obscuring part of it—and he sees _something,_ some sort of wild untamed emotion on Pat's face, eyes all narrow, cold—he feels like Pat's going to pounce on him any moment, like he’s going to fucking devour him, and Brian stares him right back down, licks his lips slowly.

Brian’s seen Pat snap pictures of him before; he’s taken photos of Brian’s performances. But it’s _different_ when Pat’s not being pushed around in a sea of bodies and simply taking what he can get. Now, with their apartment door locked and all the time in the world, Pat can pause and look and _consider_ ; he can even step forward, reach out, adjust Brian’s slender limbs with a gentle but firm hand. 

Silently, Pat lowers to his knees and considers Brian at different angles, shifting and adjusting and Brian hears the camera _snap_ as he moves around. He keeps getting up and readjusting, his brow furrowed, focused. And Brian's not gonna be the one to fold first, not _ever,_ but he's naked as the day he was born and he's still trying to look pretty while trying to pretend that having Pat circle his body, fully clothed, while he's naked and the subject of all of Pat's attention, doesn’t make him feel—feel _something._ He’s not sure what. 

Brian’s suddenly quiet—his brain isn’t functioning well, giving him anything witty or sexy to say—as opposed to loudly flirting and joking because _god,_ it’s difficult to imagine trying to string words together when Pat’s studying him like this.

After Pat's been taking purposeful, posed nude photos of Brian for a while, he begins to speak to him in between snaps of his camera, let Brian know _exactly_ what's on Pat's mind as he's capturing him this way. It's not long before Brian's hard because of—well—he's not gonna _dissect_ it, but there's something about the way that he's completely open for Pat, and Pat's moving his limbs around and telling him how to pose and between those he's saying "love how cute your cock is, baby," and "what would Sim say to see you like this?" and "good boy, _just_ like that."

Without even pausing to put down his camera, Pat directs to Brian, “touch yourself.” Brian’s flustered, and a blush rises to his face at the prospect of following this particular demand; he knows he’s not going to be able to look cool and composed as soon as he gets his hand around his dick. 

“Pat, how do you want—?”

“Don’t overthink it. Just touch yourself and I’ll tell you—yeah, just like that, keep making that desperate expression.”

-

Pat honestly tries his best to do what Brian’s asking of him. He really does. He's not like, the most professional photographer in the world but he prides himself a _little_ on his craft, enough to not get seduced by his clients, he thought. But it's different when Brian's in front of him and he's making eyes at the camera like he'd made last night when Pat fucked him open on their bed, expression all half-lidded and soft wet mouth, and lax and fuckable. His limbs are loose, laid out elegantly over the wood chair taken from their tiny dining table.

Brian's as pretty as a picture when he's posing, when he's performing, when he's composed. It's really something quite graceful, something Pat's not seen in many people; he has a way of carrying himself that is somehow both elegant and simultaneously goofy, but he manages to play it off most of the time pretty well—Brian's charming, is the thing. 

_But God,_ Pat thinks, _when Brian finally comes undone—that's when the real show begins._

That's when Pat starts taking photos rapidly, forgetting about the limit on film that he's restricted for himself this month, because _holy fuck, Brian._ Brian’s eyes are still open, but lidded, heady, when he wraps one hand around the base of his cock and strokes upwards, and it's almost tentative, looking up at Pat from underneath dark eyelashes for approval. "Yeah, _yes,_ good. Lick your hand for me." Brian looks up at him, looks almost incredulous at his words, a little _scandalized_ maybe, and it raises a laugh from deep in Pat's chest, and Brian looks a little lost, his hand still working over his cock, but slower, as if he's not sure he's doing it right _for_ Pat. God, he's doing this for Pat—Brian's a performer, sure, but this is Pat's own private showing.

-

Pat slightly adjusts Brian, brushing Brian’s skin with just the tips of his fingers. His voice is slow and rumbling when he says, “you’re so pretty.” He reaches out, nudges Brian’s thighs further apart as he crouches in front of him. “Love having you all to myself like this,” he murmurs, tapping two fingers against Brian’s lower back so he arches just a little bit more. 

Then Pat stands up and he’s towering over Brian still looking at him through the camera as his other hand reaches out to cup Brian’s jaw and run the pad of his thumb over Brian’s bottom lip. Brian hears the snap of the photo being taken and gasps because _wow,_ he’s gonna like looking at that photo _forever._

After a second, Brian sucks Pat's fingers into his mouth showily, lips stretched pretty, and winks at the camera. Pat teases him about that one— _looking like a damn pin-up model, Bri._ But Brian likes to act, _ahem,_ decidedly _slutty_ when he feels overwhelmed with Pat’s attention (a guy’s gotta have _some_ control). 

Brian gasps when Pat’s fingers slip from his mouth, trail to his chin. With steady hands, Pat slips careful fingers around Brian’s throat. Pat takes a picture with his hand curled soft around Brian's neck, not tight or gripping: only light pressure, trust, and control. 

Pat’s getting closer, looming over him, as Brian’s touching himself. Sitting there, Pat looking at him all hungry, Brian’s hot, sweaty hand wrapped around his cock—he feels like he’s gonna _die_ if Pat doesn’t touch him soon, because this is almost too much. Pat pauses, hesitates, thinks, and then his jaw sets with a certain finality before he’s slinging his camera onto the nearby table and all but pulling Brian up into the most desperate kiss all in one fluid motion. Brian groans into it, his hands coming to wrap around Pat, pulling him closer, but Brian’s entire _being_ is in this kiss. 

Brian kisses back so intensely that he’s standing with the force of it; he pushes Pat back, backing Pat into a wall. He’s rutting against Pat’s thigh at the same time he’s undoing Pats belt with one hand while the other still clings to Pat’s neck. This kiss is heavy, desperate; Brian pulls Pat’s bottom lip between his teeth and _whines_ into it, teeth and tongue and heat.

Still, Pat has a certain amount of control over the situation that leaves Brian’s knees feeling weak. He’s licking into Brian’s mouth even with his back against the wall, and bringing a hand up to tweak at Brian’s nipple roughly. It makes Brian yip into his mouth, keening and desperate. It’s not long before Pat’s calmly pushing Brian aside, sitting down at that same chair Brian had splayed out upon. Wordlessly, he motions to his lap, crooks an eyebrow up at Brian. It isn’t a question. Brian’s too far gone to reason with himself—he should feel some sort of shame for sliding into this kind of submissive role so easily, but it’s just so _good_ —and he sits, eager and complacent, on Pat’s knee. 

Humming affirmatively, Pat splays his hand out on Brian’s upper thigh, and even the promise of something more is making Brian’s body quake and twitch. With little pretense other than that warm palm in his inner thigh, he’s wrapping his warm hand around Brian’s cock and Brian’s head lolls back against Pat’s chest, moaning lowly into Pat’s ear as he jerks him. It’s surprising, but his palm is slick, meaning at some point when Brian had been alit with lust and been sex-stupid Pat’d grabbed their lube, gotten some on his hand to make it better for Brian. _Fuck._ Pat’s pace is unrelenting and incredibly physical as he touches Brian; his other palm lays flat against his Brian’s chest, holds him still as he’s fisting his cock. 

It’s not long before Brian finishes, his hips jerking upwards with the twist of Pat’s knowing wrist, as Pat whispers low and dirty into his ear that Brian’s _the prettiest thing he’s ever fucking seen, fuck, I’m going to fucking ruin you—_

Brian arches up, fucks into Pat’s fist and comes _hard_ on his chest and Pat’s hand, wet and sticky and bone-melting. 

There’s more normal, family-friendly photos littered around their apartment both on the walls and on most surfaces, sometimes made into art projects or magnets or coasters, but if Brian’s being honest, he loves the most their boxes with forbidden photos from these solo sessions. They’re in a physically locked drawer in a wooden box, and he not only loves how they look but loves that Pat loves how they look. And Brian’s aware that Pat hides some away just for himself, secretly; Pat's got a picture of Brian sleeping that he knows Brian would hate, because _yeah I know it's creepy Bri,_ but Pat told him that he just looks so peaceful when he's sleeping, so lax. His mouth's open in a snore Pat can just hear if he looks at the photo for enough time, which he does long and often, when Brian can’t be there. 

Brian gifts a full shot of himself where he’s naked—posed especially so you can’t totally see his dick—to Simone. Several weeks after the fact, he visits and finds that Simone's got it hung up it in her apartment, proudly displayed on her mantel above her fireplace. 

When Brian asks her why she keeps it there, she merely honks out a laugh and exclaims that “it’s art!”

-

One day when they’re hanging out at Brian’s apartment, Pat keeps glancing over at Brian like he wants to ask something, but he’s not being very surreptitious about it, so Brian notices, easily. At a certain point, Brian catches his eye, grabs his hand, and forces Pat to lock eyes with him. “What, Patrick?” he asks Pat, direct and leaving no room for dodging. 

Pat’s eyes dart upwards, and then they connect with Brian’s. “I—what are your sexual experiences before us?” he asks, the words seeming to fall out of his mouth like gushing water. 

As if on cue, Brian laughs outright, and it startles Pat, twists his face up, but Brian’s hand grabs his and keeps Pat steady, grounds him. Brian crooks an eyebrow upwards, but it’s friendly. “That all, Pat Gill? You wanna know the different ways I’ve fucked?” 

Pat’s face reddens with embarrassment, and Brian laughs again, caresses Pat’s face with a soft hand and brings Pat’s chin forward to connect their lips in a chaste kiss. Pat’s laugh when they disconnect is breathy, uncertain. “Kinda,” he murmurs. 

Brian can’t help it; his grin is bright, big on his face. “Well, I’ve certainly had sex with more than one person at a time,” he whispers to Pat, and watches Pat’s face morph into one of clear surprise, Pat’s jaw dropping as he imagines. “Oh, come on, Pat. It’s not just that. I mean. I’ve had sex while high. While drunk. In a car. On a balcony. In bathrooms. After performances. Just before performances.”

Pat inhales sharp, almost like a gasp. For a moment, he loses his nerve, and Brian’s terrified. Will Pat think—Pat’s not—it’s not like Brian’s a _floozy_ , or anything like that. Brian wishes he could look away, run from this uncomfortable situation, but instead he bores his eyes into Pat’s soul, and Pat doesn’t break, either. 

Pat’s quiet for a minute; Brian studies him, wishes he could read Pat’s mind. It would make this whole thing a lot easier. It’s not like Pat tries to hide his emotions, no; it’s just that sometimes he doesn’t place value on his own outlook, and it makes things hard because Brian’s not a mind-reader. Brian leans forward, lays a hand on Pat’s shoulder and a kiss on his cheek. 

Pat clears his throat. “Well,” he starts, and then pauses. “If you've had all this great stuff, then why have sex with me?” 

For a moment, Brian’s heart threatens to break as he scans Pat’s expression, finds it absolutely serious and open, vulnerable. He’s— _What?_

“Pat Gill,” Brian all but cries, “you can’t seriously think—” 

“Look,” Pat says softly, “it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay,” Brian says firmly, huffs out air. “I don’t want you to think that you’re—that we—Pat, I love having sex with you.” 

And it’s true—sure, Brian may have had a lot of sex—but has he had sex like this before? Where he feels trusted? _Trusting?_

Brian usually fucks people like he performs—which is to say, he isn’t very enthusiastically happy about everything. Yeah, sure—he’s been the precious delicate one, the wild thing, needy and bratty, dominant and withholding. He’s had a bunch of sex a bunch of ways and it’s been great. But has it ever been like this—accompanied with all these big feelings and emotions? 

Brian remembers the first time Pat and him had penetrative sex—

When Pat first pushes into Brian, he goes so _goddamn_ slow that it's almost agonizing.

Brian keeps complaining—he tries all the tricks in the book: hooks his heels behind Pat's back, tries to flirt and squeeze and clench around his cock and get Pat to give in and just let loose and fuck him, begs and pleads Pat to go faster—but none of it works, not really, because Pat—well. Pat doesn't want to _fuck_ Brian right now; he wants to _make love_ to Brian.

Pat maybe could have prepped Brian a bit better—Brian knew this but urged Pat forward with lots of pretty pleading when Pat had gasped out _oh my God Brian I’m gonna die if I don’t fuck you_ —so Brian was expecting it to be rough and fast and desperate because _god, yes, Pat, fuck me up right._

But instead it’s slow. And Pat takes ages sliding in and out softly, not bottoming out—Brian can see that his arms are shaking with the restraint of it. When he does bottom out, _fucking finally, God it feels good._ Brian’s so ready for this to all amp up.

But then, Pat just circles his hips slowly, still deep inside Brian, almost massaging him from the inside, and oh, _God._

It's nothing like any sex Brian's ever had in his life. 

Because he feels—he feels cherished, he feels loved, he feels like an expensive teapot made of delicate china that Pat's trying desperately not to break. Pat leans forward when he's fully inside Brian, their hips pressed together deliciously, and Brian's squirming, hitching his legs up, trying to pull Pat closer against him, but Pat just falls forward and kisses him. In Brian's experience kissing during sex is not the _most_ optimal—it's just, it’s usually pretty _messy_ —but he's down to mess around, ready to get his teeth and tongue out, ready to suck Pat's lip into his mouth and _bite_. But when Pat kisses him sweet and soft and gentle, something in Brian's chest flips like a switch, like a puzzle piece falling into place. _Oh._

And Pat keeps kissing him, even as he does start picking up some speed. Even when it’s them both breathing into each other’s mouths more than actually kissing, and Pat’s just moaning into Brian’s mouth. Brian can feel that he’s trying to keep this going, when Pat’s hips twitch and he slows it down again trying not to come too soon. And _God,_ that says enough about Pat, as well.

Brian manages to gasp out, “it’s okay, Pat, god, you can come, I wanna feel you _lose_ it, please, I wanna feel you come inside me,” and Pat makes a real strangled noise and drops his head to Brian’s shoulder and is finally snapping his hips with the strength Brian knew he was holding back.

Brian is exactly the type of person to cling on hard during sex; he's scratching his fingernails down Pat's back to try desperately to pull him closer, smashing their lips together, trying to cant his hips to meet Pat's thrusts. And God, the way Pat's fingers dig into the softness of Brian's hips when Pat really starts going, when Pat's face falls into Brian's neck hotly, his breath warm and wet at Brian's collarbones, kissing and biting and sucking; it feels so fucking good, all the sensations at once, that Brian can't help but babble. He’s moaning out _fuck_ and _Pat_ and _please_ often, but when he gets the mind, he also makes full sentences—he's educated, _baybee_ —and Pat's hips stutter inside him when Brian rasps out, his voice low and dirty, “feels so good, want you to fill me up, make me yours.” 

-

Pat's never had someone beg for him to come inside of them—usually, generally, it's the opposite—and he's a little shaken in the best possible way, the way where he's getting little pleasure-tingles spreading from the center of his body throughout all of his limbs, like he's going to die in this feeling and he'd be happier for it. He's just—usually it's _pull out before you come_ , and that's—it's smart, you know? Like, yeah, Pat knows condoms, of course, but most folks don’t use them, and sex happens anyway. Anytime Pat's had sex with women, he finishes in his own fist, or on someone's skin, or into a towel. It's really fine, and Pat respects the wishes of the women he's been with before, but being inside Brian with the knowledge that he can come inside Brian, and Brian wants him to, too— _fuck._

Oh, but it's _vulgar_ what he wants to do with Brian, what he imagines doing with Brian. He wants in unbelievable inconceivable ways that make him shiver when he thinks of them, when Brian whispers a new idea into his ear. It's uncomfortable and all the while incredible, as his hips begin to lose correct rhythm and he wraps a hand around Brian, fisting his cock, desperate to see Brian fall apart as he's unraveling in tune.

Brian's fucking beautiful, always is, but there's something innate and perfect and undeniably _right_ to have Brian under him, to be able to lean forward to connect their lips so easy, to feel their bodies impossibly close and to still want Brian closer.

Those last few slams of his hips as he comes really are _slams._ Through the fog of it, Pat can hear Brian’s high pitched squeaks as Pat has to stop jerking Brian off just to brace his hands against the mattress. Pat’s _shaking_ with it, bending Brian back at a pretty unforgiving angle because he’s too far gone and lost all sense of self restraint—through it all, Brian’s still urging him on desperately, _yes yes yes please yes fuck Pat oh god yes._

So Pat’s orgasm hits him, and he sees stars on the back of his eyelids as it does, his toes curling and his entire body tensing as he grips Brian and fucks into him once more. And _oh_ —it feels so good to come inside him, to be connected to him in this deep intimate sense. The dull achy pleasure of still being inside Brian is starting to prick at him before he realizes Brian’s batting away his hand to wrap his own lithe hand around his pretty cock. 

It’s an honor and a privilege, in Pat’s opinion, that after a mindblowing orgasm, he gets a show like this: Brian’s spread open, Pat still inside of him as he’s desperately fucking into his fist, face reddened with a blotchy blush and eyes almost tearful. Within half a minute, he wrings an orgasm out of himself, arching and squeezing in a way that’s almost overstimulating for Pat, but he grits his teeth and focuses instead at how fucking beautiful Brian is like this: flushed, sex-sweaty and moaning broken.

Brian crumples, then collapses against the pillows. They disconnect a little clumsily and Brian groans with the sudden emptiness and Pat's mind is racing, trying to think of how exactly is the best way he can take care of this precious creature before him. 

He’s distracted, suddenly, when he sees Brian layed out, his legs still open, inviting, and a little of Pat’s come dribbles out from Brian, messy white on creamy skin. Pat’s hand is there before he can think to stop himself, curious, touching. He rolls the pad of his thumb over Brian’s hole, still trembling with orgasm, and presses in just a little. Brian’s body twitches in oversensitivity, letting out a little whine. Pat watches in wonder at the fucking amazing sight before him. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Pat says, honestly, before Brian's hand grips his shoulder hard and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s messy and disjunctive, but Pat smiles into it. He can feel Brian's eyelashes fluttering closed, soft against his cheek.

Sated, Brian hums into his mouth, a contented sigh. He's still flushed but his breathing's a little slower, now, his warm skin pressed into Pat's. For now, Pat lets himself exhale, deep and warm against Brian's shoulder. But as his eyes are pressing closed, he hears Brian mumble "Pat?" into his hair, so he picks his head up and looks at the beautiful man under him.

Belly still wet with cum and chest flushed, Brian's splayed out on their bed. His eyes are sparkling and wet in the low light of the room. His hair is sticking up at all angles, crazy, sex-toussled, sweaty, and Pat finds himself feeling supernaturally lucky that he gets to see Brian like this.

"Yeah? Want me to get—" Pat starts, already beginning to shift to find a washcloth.

"No, c'mere, shh," Brian says, wrenching Pat back towards him. Brian's looking at him all serious, and it's making something like butterflies in Pat's stomach, little nervous feelings lighting up parts of him he forgot existed. Brian bites the inside of his cheek, looks up at Pat with his eyebrows knitted together. Because he's got the leverage right now, Pat leans down, kisses the space between his eyebrows, smoothes the worry out with gentle lips. When he looks back at Brian, he's got tears in his eyes. Pat panics for a moment, wonders if he did something wrong, but before he can ask, Brian's mouth is opening and the words "I love you," are falling out, and they hang in the air between them.

It's immediately, unthinking—"I love you too," Pat answers. There’s no doubt in his heart at all—he’s known he loves Brian since the first time he slept over. "Of course. I love you. You changed my life. I’m so grateful that I get to love you," he says, and Brian's smiling at him, pulling him in for a kiss. Pat’s heart—no, his entire _being_ swells with deep, intense emotion. 

Pat dutifully rises from the bed to gather a washcloth to clean off Brian’s sticky skin. When he returns to the bedside, Brian’s already asleep, starfished on the bed, snoozing with cum drying on his soft belly.

-

When Brian asks the question “would you ever want me to fuck you?” barely a week after Pat’s fucked him for the first time Pat’s a bit thrown off by the question. Brian gets through the _it’s fine if you don’t_ and _I’m just curious_ stuff and Pat’s still looking at him with his brows furrowed. 

Pat doesn’t know how to word what he wants to say so it ends up coming out of his mouth like “but I’m not very feminine, Bri.”

And Brian laughs because— _oh, god, Patrick that’s not how that works,_ and _haven’t you ever thought about it?_ and _have you ever tried with your own fingers?_ and _I could make it real good for you, work you open real nice._

Pat looks like he’s dying; his face is alit in a red flush, and he manages to croak out a quick “Um—uh? I don’t know! I’ve never even—”

Brian’s facial expression is smug as he purrs out: _hmmm, we should try sometime and find out._

A night when they were especially drunk, when Brian had stumbled from the taxi cab up to his apartment with Pat at his heels and when the door is closed Brian’s immediately on him, pressing Pat into the door and kissing him fiercely. 

Brian’s breath is a little hard and ragged when he pulls back, takes a minute to slide his eyes purposefully down Pat’s body. He looks good; they’d gone out dancing tonight, and Pat’s button-up shirt is unbuttoned a fair way down his chest, a decision made when they were underground, warm in a sea of bodies, dancing, feeling. 

_The jazz band blared loudly behind them and the trumpet racketed through Brian’s bones as he pressed himself close to Pat, led them in a quick swing step._

_Pat’d reached up to his collar—in the sparkling bleary light of the speakeasy, Brian could see the sweat gathered at Pat’s temples and skin, the way his face was flushed with red and pink blotches from the heat. Is it from the people pressed up against us on every side, Brian thinks, or is it from the dancing? Or something else… less innocent? Because they were pressed up against each other close, Brian’s thigh slotted snugly between Pat’s legs, and he pressed just a little bit more forward—_

_It’s like running fingers through fire: Brian didn’t know what to expect, but it brought a devious, wicked smile to his face when he felt Pat semi-hard against him, unmistakable and fucking hot._

_Pat leaned forward, their foreheads pressed together, hot and sweaty, and he hooked a finger around one of his shirt’s buttons, unbuttoned it. The fabric falls forward and even more of Pat’s skin is revealed, and it’s just as flushed and sweat-slick as the rest of him, and in a moment of unobscured lust Brian leans forward, licks a line up Pat’s neck to his earlobe before biting down at the sensitive skin there. Pat all but moans, leans into Brian’s touch._

When Brian drops to his knees for Pat, sucking purple hickeys into his hips and biting at the sensitive skin of his inner thighs before suckling at him and taking him in his mouth, Pat comes _undone_. He threads his hands into Brian’s hair and moans low and broken. Brian’s good at this and he knows it, as he braces his hands on Pat’s thighs and bobs his head, lips pretty and spit-shiny stretched around Pat’s cock. 

All too soon Brian’s coming up and taking a break from this to instead take Pat in his hand and oh— _actually_ , that’s fucking good too, especially because now Brian’s nosing around curiously, unashamedly attracted to Pat and licking his inner thighs, biting, nuzzling. He’s also looking up at Pat, and then that sweet pink mouth opens, starts talking as smooth as you please. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Pat, can’t wait to fuck you, spread you open,” Brian murmurs into his thigh and Pat can’t help the full-body shiver that particular thought inspires, the way it makes his knees feel like they’re going to give out and he’s suddenly trying to think of something unappealing rather than _extremely appealing_ so Brian’s clever hand doesn’t bring him over the edge too soon. 

Even if it does sound fucking incredible, the thought of Brian fucking him—being inside of him—spreading him open—it’s a lot, it makes Pat blush from his chest to his face, but he whispers _yes yes yes_ in affirmation, encourages Brian to keep talking. So he does, flicks his wrist as he continues to mouth dirty happenings into the crook of Pat’s thigh. “Wanna get my fingers inside you, baby. Mmm, could make you feel so good. If I had lube here I’d do it.” Pat’s hips jerk forward imagining this, and Brian squeezes him something like a warning, presses him back up against the wall. “Or maybe I’d take my sweet time with you. Lay you out on the bed and warm up the lube for you all nice. I’d spread you open so slow, make you take it for so long, that you’d beg for my cock, huh, Pat Gill?” Brian asks, caressing the crown of Pat’s cock in his palm, looking up at Pat with an expression halfway between commandeering and flirtatious. 

Pat’s gasping—he knows he won’t be able to last long, not like this, not with these full-bodied waves of crashing pleasure that tingle at his fingertips and make him feel unbearably hard. And he wants to come, he really does, and finds himself asking _please please I need to—oh my god please_ and Brian bites his thigh, hard, mouths _come for me_ against his skin on the upstroke of his hand. 

Even with all pretense, it is still a huge moment when Brian actually fucks him and is the most careful and doing everything with such loving intentions and Pat can _feel_ it.

Brian makes it so good for Pat, the first time he bottoms, that he comes first with Brian inside him, and _holy shit_ it's like, a life changing orgasm, the way it rockets through his body and he can feel Brian hot and slick inside him and it feels so good to bear down on something the way he is, it's _overwhelming._

And Brian immediately pauses inside of Pat, but Pat can see he's desperate and like so fucking turned on and so when Brian tries to pull out of him, he wraps his legs around Brian's waist and holds him there, and Brian's face is all twisted up and he whispers, _Pat,_ from between gritted teeth and Pat whispers, _I can take it, give it to me_ , and Brian's hesitant, of course, but then Pat says _please_ in the smallest, prettiest voice and _oh,_ okay. 

So he fucks Pat—tries to be real gentle with it, while still knowing he's—he's gotta—there's a certain _rhythm_ —but Pat's taking it so good that Brian doesn't even notice, for a minute, that he's crying, that there are tears wetting Pat's face. 

Brian stops again—touches Pat's face—he's whispering _are you okay_ but Pat doesn't even look like he registered that he was crying, and Pat's nodding, quick, desperate. _Good tears,_ Pat chokes out, which makes Brian's cock throb inside of him. 

He's making these little whiny noises, not able to get hard so quickly, but soft, pliant, still seeming to enjoy Brian fucking him, and that's what does it, that's what makes Brian spill inside of Pat with a sharp groan, his face buried in Pat's shoulder.

It’s the aftercare that makes it even more special; that night, Brian bathed Pat, washed his hair and wrapped him in fluffy towels, cuddled and healed and fed and energized him. The caccoon that their bed becomes is a refuge when they’re both cleaned up and sleepy, and Brian falls asleep with a hand holding Pat close around the middle, his face pressed warm into the back of Pat’s neck.

**Author's Note:**

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